飘

　And　now；　having　worked　like　a　field　hand；　she　had　to　retire　decorously　when　the　fun　was　just　beginning。　Oh；　it　wasn’t　fair　that　she　should　have　a　dead　husband　and　a　baby　yelling　in　the　next　room　and　be　out　of　everything　that　was　pleasant。　Just　a　little　over　a　year　ago；　she　was　dancing　and　wearing　bright　clothes　instead　of　this　dark　mourning　and　was　practically　engaged　to　three　boys。　She　was　only　seventeen　now　and　there　was　still　a　lot　of　dancing　left　in　her　feet。　Oh；　it　wasn’t　fair！　Life　was　going　past　her；　down　a　hot　shady　summer　road；　life　with　gray　uniforms　and　jingling　spurs　and　flowered　organdie　dresses　and　banjos　playing。　She　tried　not　to　smile　and　wave　too　enthusiastically　to　the　men　she　knew　best；　the　ones　she’d　nursed　in　the　hospital；　but　it　was　hard　to　subdue　her　dimples；　hard　to　look　as　though　her　heart　were　in　the　grave—when　it　wasn’t。
　Her　bowing　and　waving　were　abruptly　halted　when　Pittypat　entered　the　room；　panting　as　usual　from　climbing　the　stairs；　and　jerked　her　away　from　the　window　unceremoniously。
　“Have　you　lost　your　mind；　honey；　waving　at　men　out　of　your　bedroom　window？　I　declare；　Scarlett；　I’m　shocked！　What　would　your　mother　say？”
　“Well；　they　didn’t　know　it　was　my　bedroom。”
　“But　they’d　suspect　it　was　your　bedroom　and　that’s　just　as　bad。　Honey；　you　mustn’t　do　things　like　that　Everybody　will　be　talking　about　you　and　saying　you　are　fast—and　anyway；　Mrs。　Merriwether　knew　it　was　your　bedroom。”
　“And　I　suppose　she’ll　tell　all　the　boys；　the　old　cat。”
　“Honey；　hush！　Dolly　Merriwether’s　my　best　friend。”
　“Well；　she’s　a　cat　just　the　same—oh；　I’m　sorry；　Auntie；　don’t　cry！　I　forgot　it　was　my　bedroom　window。　I　won’t　do　it　again—I—I　just　wanted　to　see　them　go　by。　I　wish　I　was　going。”
　“Honey！”
　“Well；　I　do。　I’m　so　tired　of　sitting　at　home。”
　“Scarlett；　promise　me　you　won’t　say　things　like　that。　People　would　talk　so。　They’d　say　you　didn’t　have　the　proper　respect　for　poor　Charlie—”
　“Oh；　Auntie；　don’t　cry！”
　“Oh；　now　I’ve　made　you　cry；　too；”　sobbed　Pittypat；　in　a　pleased　way；　fumbling　in　her　skirt　pocket　for　her　handkerchief。
　The　hard　little　pain　had　at　last　reached　Scarlett’s　throat　and　she　wailed　out　loud—not；　as　Pittypat　thought；　for　poor　Charlie　but　because　the　last　sounds　of　the　wheels　and　the　laughter　were　dying　away。　Melanie　rustled　in　from　her　room；　a　worried　frown　puckering　her　forehead；　a　brush　in　her　hands；　her　usually　tidy　black　hair；　freed　of　its　net；　fluffing　about　her　face　in　a　mass　of　tiny　curls　and　waves。
　“Darlings！　What　is　the　matter？”
　“Charlie！”　sobbed　Pittypat；　surrendering　utterly　to　the　pleasure　of　her　grief　and　burying　her　head　on　Melly’s　shoulder。
　“Oh；”　said　Melly；　her　lip　quivering　at　the　mention　of　her　brother’s　name。　“Be　brave；　dear。　Don’t　cry。　Oh；　Scarlett！”
　Scarlett　had　thrown　herself　on　the　bed　and　was　sobbing　at　the　top　of　her　voice；　sobbing　for　her　lost　youth　and　the　pleasures　of　youth　that　were　denied　her；　sobbing　with　the　indignation　and　despair　of　a　child　who　once　could　get　anything　she　wanted　by　sobbing　and　now　knows　that　sobbing　can　no　longer　help　her。　She　burrowed　her　head　in　the　pillow　and　cried　and　kicked　her　feet　at　the　tufted　counterpane。
　“I　might　as　well　be　dead！”　she　sobbed　passionately。　Before　such　an　exhibition　of　grief；　Pittypat’s　easy　tears　ceased　and　Melly　flew　to　the　bedside　to　comfort　her　sister…in…law。
　“Dear；　don’t　cry！　Try　to　think　how　much　Charlie　loved　you　and　let　that　comfort　you！　Try　to　think　of　your　darling　baby。”
　Indignation　at　being　misunderstood　mingled　with　Scarlett’s　forlorn　feeling　of　being　out　of　everything　and　strangled　all　utterance。　That　was　fortunate；　for　if　she　could　have　spoken　she　would　have　cried　out　truths　coached　in　Gerald’s　forthright　words。　Melanie　patted　her　shoulder　and　Pittypat　tiptoed　heavily　about　the　room　pulling　down　the　shades。
　“Don’t　do　that！”　shouted　Scarlett；　raising　a　red　and　swollen　face　from　the　pillow。　I’m　not　dead　enough　for　you　to　pull　down　the　shades—though　I　might　as　well　be。　Oh；　do　go　away　and　leave　me　alone！”
　She　sank　her　face　into　the　pillow　again　and；　after　a　whispered　conference；　the　two　standing　over　her　tiptoed　out。　She　heard　Melanie　say　to　Pittypat　in　a　low　voice　as　they　went　down　the　stairs：
　“Aunt　Pitty；　I　wish　you　wouldn’t　speak　of　Charles　to　her。　You　know　how　it　always　affects　her。　Poor　thing；　she　gets　that　queer　look　and　I　know　she’s　trying　not　to　cry。　We　mustn’t　make　it　harder　for　her。”
　Scarlett　kicked　the　coverlet　in　impotent　rage；　trying　to　think　of　something　bad　enough　to　say。
　“God’s　nightgown！”　she　cried　at　last；　and　felt　somewhat　relieved。　How　could　Melanie　be　content　to　stay　at　home　and　never　have　any　fun　and　wear　crêpe　for　her　brother　when　she　was　only　eighteen　years　old？　Melanie　did　not　seem　to　know；　or　care；　that　life　was　riding　by　with　jingling　spurs。
　“But　she’s　such　a　stick；”　thought　Scarlett；　pounding　the　pillow。　“And　she　never　was　popular　like　me；　so　she　doesn’t　miss　the　things　I　miss。　And—and　besides　she’s　got　Ashley　and　I—I　haven’t　got　anybody！”　And　at　this　fresh　woe；　she　broke　into　renewed　outcries。
　She　remained　gloomily　in　her　room　until　afternoon　and　then　the　sight　of　the　returning　picnickers　with　wagons　piled　high　with　pine　boughs；　vines　and　ferns　did　not　cheer　her。　Everyone　looked　‘happily　tired　as　they　waved　to　her　again　and　she　returned　their　greetings　drearily。　Life　was　a　hopeless　affair　and　certainly　not　worth　living。
　Deliverance　came　in　the　form　she　least　expected　when；　during　the　after…dinner…nap　period；　Mrs。　Merriwether　and　Mrs。　Elsing　drove　up。　Startled　at　having　callers　at　such　an　hour；　Melanie；　Scarlett　and　Aunt　Pittypat　roused　themselves；　hastily　hooked　their　basques；　smoothed　their　hair　and　descended　to　the　parlor。
　“Mrs。　Bonnell’s　children　have　the　measles；”　said　Mrs。　Merriwether　abruptly；　showing　plainly　that　she　held　Mrs。　Bonnell　personally　responsible　for　permitting　such　a　thing　to　happen。
　“And　the　McLure　girls　have　been　called　to　Virginia；”　said　Mrs。　Elsing　in　her　die…away　voice；　fanning　herself　languidly　as　if　neither　this　nor　anything　else　mattered　very　much。　“Dallas　McLure　is　wounded。”
　“How　dreadful！　chorused　their　hostesses。　“Is　poor　Dallas—”
　“No。　Just　through　the　shoulder；”　said　Mrs。　Merriwether　briskly。　“But　it　couldn’t　possibly　have　happened　at　a　worse　time。　The　girls　are　going　North　to　bring　him　home。　But；　skies　above；　we　haven’t　time　to　sit　here　talking。　We　must　hurry　back　to　the　Armory　and　get　the　decorating　done。　Pitty；　we　need　you　and　Melly　tonight　to　take　Mrs。　Bonnell’s　and　the　McLure　girls’　places。”
　“Oh；　but；　Dolly；　we　can’t　go。”
　“Don’t　say　‘can’t’　to　me；　Pittypat　Hamilton；”　said　Mrs。　Merriwether　vigorously。　“We　need　you　to　watch　the　darkies　with　the　refreshments。　That　was　what　Mrs。　Bonnell　was　to　do。　And　Melly；　you　must　take　the　McLure　girls’　booth。”
　“Oh；　we　just　couldn’t—with　poor　Charlie　dead　only　a—”
　“I　know　how　you　feel　but　there　isn’t　any　sacrifice　too　great　for　the　Cause；”　broke　in　Mrs。　Elsing　in　a　soft　voice　that　settled　matters。
　“Oh；　we’d　love　to　help　but—why　can’t　you　get　some　sweet　pretty　girls　to　take　the　booths？”
　Mrs。　Merriwether　snorted　a　trumpeting　snort。
　“I　don’t　know　what’s　come　over　the　young　people　these　days。　They　have　no　sense　of　responsibility。　All　the　girls　who　haven’t　already　taken　booths　have　more　excuses　than　you　could　shake　a　stick　at。　Oh；　they　don’t　fool　me！　They　just　don’t　want　to　be　hampered　in　making　up　to　the　officers；　that’s　all。　And　they’re　afraid　their　new　dresses　won’t　show　off　behind　booth　counters。　I　wish　to　goodness　that　blockade　runner—what’s　his　name？”
　“Captain　Butler；”　supplied　Mrs。　Elsing。
　“I　wish　he’d　bring　in　more　hospital　supplies　and　less　hoop　skirts　and　lace。　If　I’ve　had　to　look　at　one　dress　today　I’ve　had　to　look　at　twenty　dresses　that　he　ran　in。　Captain　Butler—I’m　sick　of　the　name。　Now；　Pitty；　I　haven’t　time　to　argue。　You　must　come。　Everybody　will　understand。　Nobody　will　see　you　in　the　back　room　anyway；　and　Melly　won’t　be　conspicuous。　The　poor　McLure　girls’　booth　is　way　down　at　the　end　and　not　very　pretty　so　nobody　will　notice　you。”
　“I　think　we　should　go；”　said　Scarlett；　trying　to　curb　her　eagerness　and　to　keep　her　face　earnest　and　simple。　“It　is　the　least　we　can　do　for　the　hospital。”
　Neither　of　the　visiting　ladies　had　even　mentioned　her　name；　and　they　turned　and　looked　sharply　at　her。　Even　in　their　extremity；　they　had　not　considered　asking　a　widow　of　scarcely　a　year　to　appear　at　a　social　function。　Scarlett　bore　their　gaze　with　a　wide…eyed　childlike　expression。
　“I　think　we　should　go　and　help　to　make　it　a　success；　all　of　us。　I　think　I　should　go　in　the　booth　with　Melly　because—well；　I　think　it　would　look　better　for　us　both　to　be　there　instead　of　just　one。　Don’t　you　think　so；　Melly？”
　“Well；”　began　Melly　helplessly。　The　idea　of　appearing　publicly　at　a　social　gathering　while　in　mourning　was　so　unheard　of　she　was　bewildered。
　“Scarlett’s　right；”　said　Mrs。　Merriwether；　observing　signs　of　weakening。　She　rose　and　jerked　her　hoops　into　place。　“Both　of　you—all　of　you　must　come。　Now；　Pitty；　don’t　start　your　excuses　again。　Just　think　how